


never learned to read your mind

by trashkingvibes



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Breaking Up & Making Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27148706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashkingvibes/pseuds/trashkingvibes
Summary: He shook his head. “I hated you so much, did you know that? From the top of your fucking head to the tips of your fucking toes. I hated you. I hated the memories I had of you. They were fucking ruined. Two years I gave you, we gave each other. And you ruined it with a single fucking text.”“Dylan…”“And you want to know the worst part?” Dylan continued, like Connor hadn’t even spoken. “The worst part is I still love you. Three fucking years. And I can’t get over my high school sweetheart.”
Relationships: Connor McDavid/Dylan Strome
Comments: 5
Kudos: 86





	never learned to read your mind

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction, yada yada. Please don't share with any of the players I base these fictional characters around. Also! Response to a prompt, which is why it may seem rushed. 
> 
> YES, the title is from a Taylor Swift song because I have no sense of originality.

If Dylan was surprised to see Connor outside the visitor’s locker room, he didn’t show it. 

“Do you want to get a drink?” Connor said in a rush before either of them had a chance to say hello.

“Connor McDavid going out for a drink on a Saturday night in Edmonton with an ex teammate. Not very auspicious.”

“Auspicious? Big word.” Which - he had no right to do this. He had no right to banter with Dylan, not after everything he’d done.

“I’m not wrong, though,” Dylan shrugged, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder.

He  _ wasn’t _ wrong, Connor thought, looking down at his feet. This was already going very badly. “Come back to mine?”

“We could have to fly out tonight,” Dylan said with a tilt of his head, watching his teammates file past him. He got a few strange looks, but most of the Hawks just nodded at Connor. 

Connor shuffled his feet, sheepish. “I uh - I asked Alex and he said you were flying out tomorrow.” 

Dylan turned to make eye contact for the first time in their admittedly short conversation. He looked tired, the bags under his eyes more pronounced than usual; he inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, not breaking eye contact. “I can do one drink.”

Connor tried not to smile, because this could still go badly. In fact, there was really no way this would go  _ well,  _ but there wasn’t any harm in trying, not when he had nothing left to lose. “Let me just - I should tell some of the guys, I know they were planning on going out.”

“Oh, and you were planning on going out with them?” Dylan sent him a small grin. 

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I mean, not really. But I was going to at least get a beer or something.”

“Go on, then,” Dylan gestured. “Tell your friends that with an incredible amount of regret you can’t go out with them.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “I’m sure they’ll believe that I’m truly regretful.”

Dylan rolled his eyes in return, looking dangerously fond for someone who hadn’t willingly been in the same room as Connor for years. Not since - well. Not since the breakup. 

They’d been young, when they’d fallen in love. Call it puppy love, but Connor knew his own heart, even at seventeen. It was easy when they were on the same team, when they were living in each other’s pockets. But then the draft had come, and suddenly they were almost three thousand kilometers away. Distance may have made the heart grow fonder, but the relationship...slowly it had crumbled, missed texts turned to missed calls, until eventually Connor couldn’t do it anymore.

He was afraid. Afraid that Dylan would move on first, would decide he wasn’t worth it.

He did it over text, like the coward he was. He’d done it over text and then turned off his phone, because he couldn’t stand to read Dylan’s response. When he turned his phone on he’d deleted the entire message thread before he even read them, and blocked the number. 

It wasn’t his proudest moment, but he’d learned to swallow his pride when it came to Stromer years ago, for better or for worse.

“Um, I’ll just text them, they don’t need me to call them or anything. Did you want to call someone? I don’t know what your curfew is.”

Dylan nodded, pulling out his phone; he turned away to call someone - a coach, presumably - and Connor pulled out his own phone.

**_Sent:_ **

_ Won’t make it out with the team _

None of the team would be surprised, not really; the response he got was almost instantaneous.

**_Leo:_ **

_ What a shocker! _

Connor rolled his eyes. 

**_Sent:_ **

_ I’m having a drink with someone else _

**_Leo:_ **

_ I’d ask you who, but i think i know.  _

**_Sent:_ **

_ I’m pretty predictable huh _

Leon knew him, knew how he felt. He refused to get drunk with him ever again, though, because honesty may be the best quality, but not when it comes to getting drunk with your best friend and rambling about your ex boyfriend for an hour. 

**_Leo:_ **

_ Are you sure? _

**_Sent:_ **

_ Absolutely not. _

He tucked away his phone just as Dylan was ending his call.

“So,” Dylan started. “How do we get out of this place?”

“My car’s out this way.”

It was awkward. It was so awkward. It had never been like this before. As they got into his car, as they drove back to Connor’s, as Connor realised he didn’t actually have anything to offer for drinks, but was actually ravenous so is takeaway okay? As they waited for Chinese because this was a conversation three years in the making and therefore deserved a cheat night, as they sat down to eat on Connor’s too big sofa, a metre in between them. It was so fucking awkward.

Dylan cleared his throat after a bite of his lo mein. He still used a fork to eat his Chinese, Connor noted. “So.”

“So.”

“What you did was really, really shitty, Connor.” And there was no beating around the bush, because they both knew why they were here, and there was no sugar coating it, because what he did  _ was  _ shitty.

“I know,” Connor sighed, setting down his chopsticks. “Would you believe me if I told you I was sorry? Would you even consider  _ accepting  _ my apology?”

“Probably,” Dylan shrugged, staring down at his noodles like they held the secrets of the universe. 

“Really?” And that was a surprise. 

“I know you, Davo,” he told his noodles; he huffed. “Or, I thought I did.”

“You did. You do.” Connor tripped over his words, rushing to assure him. “Better than anyone, even now.”

Dylan finally looked up. “I shouldn’t trust you.”

“You shouldn’t,” Connor agreed even as the sentence stabbed him in the chest. “I haven’t given you any reason to ever trust me again.”

“Why did you do it?” It was whispered, like he couldn’t say it any out louder.

“I was scared,” Connor confessed.

“Of what?” Dylan laughed. The sound was mirthless, and grated at Connor. It wasn’t a sound he ever wanted to hear from Dylan again.

“Losing you. You forgetting me.”

“I could never forget you, Davo.” His hand twitched, like he was going to reach out and touch Connor, but placed his hand in his lap instead. This wasn’t a touching conversation, then. “You wouldn’t have lost me.”

“But I did,” Connor protested.

Dylan sent him a look. “And whose fucking fault was that? Sure as hell wasn’t my decision.”

“I might have - I don’t know.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I shouldn’t have.”

“You took my choice away from me.”

“I know.”

“I never would have chosen this. But Connor -” He shook his head. “I hated you so much, did you know that? From the top of your fucking head to the tips of your fucking toes. I hated you. I hated the memories I had of you. They were fucking ruined. Two years I gave you, we gave each other. And you ruined it with a single fucking text.”

“Dylan…”

“And you want to know the worst part?” Dylan continued, like Connor hadn’t even spoken. “The worst part is I still love you. Three fucking years. And I can’t get over my high school sweetheart.”

Connor had imagined this conversation every day for three years. Every possible way it could go, every outcome. But never - it never went like this. Dylan never took over the conversation, never told him that he loved him.

He’d always been braver than Connor.

“You love me?” His voice broke on ‘love’.

“Yeah.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I know,” Dylan shrugged, trying for nonchalance but missing the mark by a mile.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed we couldn’t work it out. I’ve never -” He swallowed. “I’ve never stopped loving you either.”

“Connor...you can’t do this again,” Dylan said softly. “If we’re going to try again...you can’t take a choice from me just because you’re scared.”

“Try again?” Connor choked. “You want to try again?”

“I won’t forget, but I can forgive. And if you’d take me back - I’d be willing to work through this with you.”

His lips tasted like soy sauce, but kissing Dylan was like coming home.

"I’d tell Mikey to take down the poster of your face he attached to his dartboard, but I think you deserve it still," Dylan smirked, pulling back.

"The real reason we can't get to the playoffs is Mikey McLeod's version of a voodoo doll," Connor nodded. "Noted."

"Nah, his aim isn't that good." Dylan seemed to have had enough of his unspoken no touching rule and threw a leg across Connor's lap.

"So it's just my terrible hockey skills," he said, nodding again.

“Yep,” Dylan said, settling across his thighs.

"Oh?" Connor gripped him by the hips.

Dylan traced a finger across Connor's cheek, teasing smirk replaced by a soft smile. “Maybe you’re alright.”

“Just alright?”

“I’m not going to stroke your ego, Davo.” He snickered. “Not when I can stroke something else.”

“I hate you,” Connor groaned, dropping his head to rest against the back of the sofa.

“No, you don’t,” Dylan snorted.

“No, I don’t,” Connor sighed, lifting his head.

Dylan’s smile almost hurt to look at, but it tasted just as it did four years ago.

“You loooove me,” Dylan said, pulling back.

“I guess I kinda do.”

They had more to discuss. This conversation wasn’t over, and it wouldn’t be. Connor refused to let it be over. Lack of communication was their downfall three years ago; it wouldn’t be this time around. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are GREATLY appreciated!


End file.
